booster rocket succeeds from a standpoint, which is a poetic thrill tied to a tree. the tree is no strange but only lasting. it lasts, quote, "after the dog dies", but before the soon smell of flowers on the all enclosed green framework, trying to get to know. the rocket has the sense, then after falling, this is all. we refer to the news. the planet hates the edges where nothing goes. we write up symptoms or approximations. the rocket, junked, falls back. effort pushed something out, a word. space is a doctrine yet we lose many terms just by watching the rocket fall. spring is here, almost, we have pictures of what will come. rain will return for snow while flowers will gain again. the tree will embark on further tree. all this is instantaneous humid being, a hematologist, perhaps.
From the thing itself, beyond seasoned aptness. Life is like living but blurred by you were listening. Aspect ratio telemetry in myriad languages smooth as rocks approaches time to look. Words piece together things or things find words. Endlessness is a choice, written big in words as shiny as geese. Words simply take the time in radiation and radical point. Stein wrote the heft of nothing special, start there or whatever. You can slowly adjust the franchise, commodity's inner workings. Subglacial quips, subliminal washouts, frantic azure in the breeze of frosty Friday: these special sparking hallways slyly enjoin. Maybe you read too much into reading too much. Further on is where you’ll stay.
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